Prairie Dawgs
by DaniDM
Summary: Part 3 - Henry's patience and kindness is slowly chipping away Julia's wall and their friendship grows. R & R enjoy.
1. Chapter 1 - Life As We Know It

**1 – Life As We Know it **

I wanted to be alone. Just me. Not even Sugar. I felt so heavy. Weak. I had hardly slept. My body ached with every move. I had gotten up around 3am, had a pee, popped a couple of pain killers, and climbed into my own bed. Alone. It was now 5:45, and I sat on the front porch swing, wrapped in a blanket, unmoving, staring into space, not even seeing the beauty of the first pink and golden hues peeking over the dark horizon. My mind was thousands of miles away. In a place I had once called home… but wasn't home any more. That hurt more than the wounds did. Wounds heal. This, however, when I think about it, never truly will. It was a heartache, deep. I'd had too many losses. Self pity? I didn't usually allow myself to feel it. But, today, for a while anyway, I was going to wallow.

I smelled the coffee brewing and heard Henry and Sugar come out the front door. He let it close gently and eased onto the opposite end of the swing. Sugar came to me, sensing something wrong, and placed her head on my lap. Absently, I stroked her ears.

We sat in silence, staring across the dying prairie. The sun was above the horizon now, dark shadows of night had faded into a cerulean, cloudless sky. The light breeze was cool, and the short grass waved peacefully with its gusts.

Henry drank his coffee and stretched his arm across the back of the seat, a silent invitation. I listlessly shifted over, resting my head on his shoulder, as he dropped his arm in comfort, placing a tender kiss on the top of my head.

The silence continued.

"I wish I could help," he finally said. "Understand that you do not have to face this alone. I will leave if you want, but I will also stay if you ask."

I reached my arm over his waist giving a gentle hug. "I know."

He left for work at 10:30 as I stood on the balcony watching his old, green pickup bounce over the crushed gravel drive and hit the pavement of the main road. Lethargically moving into the house, I changed into my ancient, faded blue UNHC t-shirt – a throw back from the early days: United Nations Humanitarian Coalition, a sanctioned group of NGOs that worked together for a common good, one of the first groups I had worked with; worn beige cargo shorts that had been seen better days, hiking boots, and my light blue UN ball cap. Strapping on a small back pack with water bottles for Sugar and me, and a few snacks, we headed off across the grassland toward the desert. Henry called it a quest. Something to help me find my balance. I needed to deal with the events that had led me to where I was.

Exactly one year ago today, events played out that changed my life forever. It had been a bright, sunny day full of hope and promise. A feud had ended. Negotiations for peaceful co-existence reached. All that was left was to publically sign the papers. It was televised for prosperity. _Ya_, I snorted to myself. It had all been captured on film…and played over, and over, and over again. I absently drew my fist to my chest and rubbed as Sugar and I strode southeast.

Over twenty representatives from the Ganjawi and Mirembe families, three UN officials and six UN security guards, a handful of reporters and journalists, a video news crew from Nairobi. All gathered to witness the end of nearly twenty-five years of feuding. A happy moment. All smiles. Proud.

Then, the first pops. Our heads sharply turned to the familiar and half-expected sound. A bang. The door to the meeting room blown open. Yelling. Rebel soldiers. The deafening roar of automatic weapons. Panic.

Ganjawi was on my left, Mirembe to my right. Shaking hands. Treaty signed. Instinct. I grabbed the wrists of both men dragging them to the ground and behind me as I upturned the table. My only thought – protect. Shouting orders to retreat out the rear exit, Brook already had it open, rapidly ushering panicked witnesses out. Several fell as shots pierced, bounced, and ricocheted off the walls, furniture, and flesh. I pushed the clan leaders forward, Ganjawi with a bleeding leg, a flesh wound. He had courageously stepped in front of Mirembe to protect his former enemy. I stood between these two powerful men and the insurgents, unarmed; using my body to protect the leaders, glancing back to make certain that everyone moving out. Turning to the fallen as our soldiers entered from the rear, I felt it. Searing pain. I was hit. Shoulder. Leg. Back. Momentum of the shots spinning me like a rag doll in a tornado finally coming to face the assailants once again for the final blow – a double tap to the center of the chest. I go down. All goes black. No light at the end of a long tunnel. Just the sound of water rushing in my ears, then endless, deep, black.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Seconds. And, life as I knew it, my career, all that I had ever worked for, possibly my life, was over.

Final count: six dead, thirteen wounded: a variety of minor flesh wounds to more serious injuries. As injuries go, I was the worst. Broken ribs, punctured lung, severe loss of blood from multiple gunshot wounds, concussion from striking my head on the concrete floor as I fell.

I woke in a Nairobi hospital after spending over a week in a coma. No one figured I'd survive, but I did.

A month later, once I was ambulatory, it was decided that I would be sent back to the United States to recover at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City. Did I have a say in the matter? No. Did I want to go? No. Did I have a choice? No.

Sitting in a wheelchair at the airport with a UN medical technician standing over me, I waited to board the plane. I hadn't been able to see any of my team or friends to say "good-bye". We had spoken on the phone, but it wasn't the same. I was miserable. My heart was breaking.

First call was made for those who needed assistance and the technician began pushing me through the crowd toward the boarding gate. Some whispered. Some covertly pointed. My face had been on the news, and we wore UN identification. Nothing like drawing attention. I hated it. As we reached the gate and handed over our passports and boarding passes, I heard a voice call "Stop!" through the crowd. Armed security stepped forward, but quickly retreated as Brook and Bennett rapidly approached. Both had been injured in the attack, but their wounds had been minor, and they had been sent back to base.

"A moment." Captain Anto Brook, in full Kenyan Military Police garb with UN patch, flashed his ID, his imposing six foot six, two hundred and forty pound frame had people backing away. Captain Chris Bennett, in his DPKO uniform with British insignia, dwarfed at only five ten and one hundred and eighty-five pounds, followed in his wake.

Brook stopped and knelt on one knee before me, taking my hands in his. "You thought you would get away without saying good-bye?" His accent was thick, his grin priceless. He kissed the backs of my hands. "Never."

My mouth opened and closed wordlessly until I finally pressed my lips together, tears swimming in my eyes. Struggling to stand, he helped me up, and we embraced. I clung to him, holding tight, burying my face into his broad chest, and openly wept. My entire body shook.

"Shhh," he whispered, stoking my back. "It is not good-bye, but until we meet again. And, we will. That is a promise. Technology is a wonderful thing." I involuntarily snorted. That, from my war-hardened friend who delighted in creating musical montages of the places we'd been. I shook my head against his chest. He laughed, deep and low. "Yes, it is. We will find a way. You will not get rid of me that easily. Fourteen years together. You are my best friend. I will not give up."

"Excuse me," the boarding agent quietly interrupted. "I'm sorry, but we have to board the passengers."

Brook nodded at the woman as we pulled apart. Cupping my face in his giant hand, he placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Be happy, Julia. You have always looked for new adventures. See this as one, and when we speak again, tell me all about it."

I hugged him again nearly losing my balance, and he lowered me back into the wheelchair. Bennett leaned in next placing a kiss on my cheek.

Stepping back, he saluted, not something you did to a civilian, but that was Bennett. He did what he felt was right. "Take care, Commander."

In a daze, I boarded the plane, and eighteen hours later, after a quick stop in Geneva, we landed at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City.

I was beginning to regret bringing Sugar along. The sun was high now, not too hot but bright, and we'd been walking for over an hour. I don't know where I got the energy from. I just kept going, not feeling anything –numb, putting one foot in front of the other. Sugar was valiantly keeping up, but I could tell that she was beginning to fade. At ten years old, she wasn't a pup but had the heart of one, and being a Lab, had the strong desire to please. I stopped to give her a drink, then took a swig for myself. Shielding my eyes, I scanned the horizon looking for the spot that Henry had suggested. I caught a glimpse of the plateau beyond a barren valley. Probably another hour or so. Smiling down at my companion, I asked. "Ready?" and she trotted on ahead.

Turkana County in the Rift Valley had similar terrain: relatively flat, arid, dusty, spotty vegetation told you where pockets of water hid beneath the parched surface. It was in the midst of a horrible drought - five years without rain. I shook my head. Vegetation struggled. Animals died. People walked miles to find water. Water – such a precious commodity; one most people took for granted, but such a basic need. UNESCO had been drilling in Turkana in search of a water source to relieve the drought, but so far, none had been found.

I trudged across the rough terrain, and by early-afternoon climbed the forty-five degree slope to the flat surface of the ledge. Popping open a portable, nylon sun shelter that packed no bigger than the size of a large pencil case, I encouraged Sugar to get under, gave her another drink and a treat, and rested.

There was nothing around. No buildings. No roads. No telephone poles. Not even a jet stream from a passing plane. I pulled out my cell phone. 1:38. One bar.

Within minutes, Sugar was snoring away, and I sat, reflecting on my life.

It had been hard, unusual, but productive, exciting, full of adventure – both good and frightening. I had struggled on my own in the early years after the death of my parents. Took chances and snatched every opportunity. I had risked my life, and nearly lost it a few times. Helped people strive for a better life of their own. Taught and learned. I had loved and lost, only to find love in the hearts of struggling souls. I'd been told that my capacity for love was unfathomable. I guess that's why when I lost, it hurt so much.

Since I'd been back to the States, I'd travelled and explored, often bitterly, grudgingly. But, here, in Wyoming, I think I've found a new home. I'd been comfortable living in my camper: on the prairie, in the mountains, in the woods, and now in a comfortable, little house in the grassland. People were friendly, open, kind. Ethan and Samantha were my first real connections here. Then, there was Henry. His quiet acceptance, patience, and generosity warmed me in a way I hadn't felt in many years, in a way that I had refused to accept. It felt good. Even today, he gave me the space I needed to sort things out, but made it clear that he would be there if I needed him. We'd never said the "L" word, but it was surely felt.

I think, what I needed now, was to find a project to stave of the boredom of inactivity. I was getting stronger, healthier, but I needed to work my mind, too.

As consultant in East African affairs, I was still on-call and available, and those calls came in at all hours, from all over the world, but I needed a hands-on project that made me feel useful and productive again. Building the gazebo at Medicine Lodge for Samantha, then Yvonne's garden, and in turn, initiating the garden at the community center on the Rez, guiding Aaron with his choices for college, yard work around Henry's house, these were little things that I'd done to get myself back on track, but I needed more. I needed a clear, long term task. I had a lot of experience with a variety of different things, but there was one thing that made my heart soar.

I wanted to motivate the youth the same way that I had been motivated. Working with the youth groups that came to Kenya as I had at eighteen was exciting. To see that innocent, stirred light in their eyes was powerful. To see the reality hit them and their acceptance of a different culture was exhilarating. I strove to guide them to realize the power they possessed, that getting involved was positive, productive, and satisfying. I wanted to light that spark again, to fan it, and watch it flame and grow.

Sitting on that barren ledge watching the sun pass its peak, the weight of that tragic day a year ago was lifted, and I made a decision. Life was not barren like this valley. There was always hope, sometimes in the little things. You just had to look. I had insight and connections. I had the power to make a difference. And, the youth held the power to make a change.

As Gandhi once said, "Be the change you want to see in the world."

I smiled. I knew exactly what I wanted to do.


	2. Chapter 2 - Friends

**2 - Friends**

"Okay. Give me a little slack." Ferg was on his knees guiding a wire under a table and up the other side. "Just a bit more. Almost there." He struggled to his feet, pulled the black cable, and plugged it into the back of the laptop. Flipping the on switch, he waited for the computer to boot up, the blue screen changing to black, the Windows logo fading in then changing to a personal home screen. "Okay. Computer's on. Let's see if we can get the rest hooked up."

"I would like to thank you for your help." Henry stood beside the portly, young deputy who was examining the smaller machine next to the laptop. "Walt praises your ability with technology. I can see that it is well earned."

The deputy smiled. "Thanks," he said. "Don't worry. We'll get this set up in no time." He screwed another cable into the back of the portable projector, linking the two machines. "What's this for anyway? Karaoke? I thought you had a machine."

Henry snorted. "No. I occasionally rent one, but this is different. We can project the image from the computer onto the screen." He pointed to a white vinyl square on the wall at the end of the dance floor, about ten feet away.

"As long as no one stands in the way, it should work fine." Ferg finished the attachment as Walt sauntered into the Red Pony.

Easing onto a bar stool, Kelly sidled up and presented him with a Rainier. Placing his hat on the counter, he popped the tab and took a long sip.

"Done for the day?" Henry smiled at his old friend.

Walt's lips twitched up at the corners. "For now," he breathed taking another pull. "So that's what you've got my deputy doing." He tipped his head toward Ferg who was focused at the keyboard. "Think it'll work?"

"It should." Henry lifted his left leg and eased one side onto a stool. "That is what Ferg is testing right now."

As if on cue, images began to appear on the screen, and Ferg clapped his hands satisfactorily. He turned to the two friends. "My vacation pictures from Arizona last year." He motioned to a larger-than-life image of himself in full cowboy gear astride a sturdy little burrow heading down the Grand Canyon. "Phantom Ranch," he grinned. "So cool."

"Hey, Ferg," Samantha called as she and Ethan entered through the salon doors. "Grand Canyon." She gestured. "I did my training there years ago. You're right. So cool."

"No dancing tonight?" Ethan wrapped his arm around Samantha's waist giving her a little twirl and steering her toward Henry and Walt at the bar. "Movie night? Where's everyone else? " He scanned the empty bar.

"Kind of, and they're coming," Henry replied as Yvonne and Lester came through the door.

"Sorry, we're late," Yvonne apologized. "Marcus didn't want to go to bed."

Kelly arrived with a lemonade and a draft beer and placed it on the table for the newcomers.

"You are not late." Henry rose, clearing his throat. "But now that everyone is here, I would like to have your attention."

"Hold on." Samantha glanced around. "Where's Julia? Are we starting this without her?"

"Yes," Henry said seriously. "Because, this is about her."

Yvonne's brows furrowed as she and Samantha shared a puzzled look.

"Treading on thin ice there, Brother," Lester warned. "What's going on?"

Henry took a deep breath. "Julia does not like to talk about herself. But, if asked, she will offer information. She has often said that her life is not a secret and if anyone wanted to know more, it was not hard to find."

Walt took a deep swig from the can. Julia had wanted to stay anonymous. He had promised her discretion. This went against his promise, and made him uncomfortable.

"This is a very difficult day for Julia. Events of one year ago radically changed her life, and she has spent the day on a quest to find balance and acceptance of what has happened. We are the people she is closest with here. I see the affection she has for all of us, and I felt it necessary to come together to support her. She does not know that we have gathered."

"So, why'd we need the projector?" Samantha asked.

"An old friend of hers sent me some photos and video depicting Julia's life since he has known her. Maybe some even older. He thought that we could get a better sense of who she is, what she has been through, to better understand what she is going through now. I called her a short while ago to ask if she would come pick me up – car trouble. She is on her way."

"Sneaky." Ethan grinned.

"But, she's been out all day. Won't she be tired?" Yvonne asked.

"Probably, but she did not hesitate. That does not surprise me. That's Julia."

The computer beeped, and the screen flickered. A brightly colored sunrise over a dusty field filled the wall of the dance floor. Henry hit pause.

Sugar and I had gotten back to the house around seven and headed straight for the kitchen; no shower, just washed my hands, fed the dog, found some leftover couscous and chicken in the fridge and popped it in the microwave. I was so tired but ate leaning against the counter not wanting to get dirt on the furniture. Rinsing the empty dish and leaving it in the drain board, I finally headed to the bathroom while Sugar headed to her cushion by the hearth. I was going to take long, hot shower. A luxury. Scrub. Hair. Legs. Heat. Soak. I was sore and needed it.

About an hour later, standing in the bedroom, hair towel-dried, wrapped only in a large, fluffy towel, I startled when the phone rang. It was Henry. He asked how my day had gone and apologized for intruding on my peace and quiet. But, he had car trouble. Could I come get him?

As tired as I was, I didn't have the heart to say no. So, I pulled on a pair of blue jeans instead of my soft new sleeper pants, zipped my black hoodie over a pink t, and headed toward the living room. Sugar was curled in a ball snoring. When I said, "I'm going to get Henry. Want to come?" she lifted her head and started to move, then changed her mind, rising only enough to shift position, flopping down again with a heavy sigh.

I chuckled. "Okay, I get the hint."

Grabbing my keys from a hook on the wall, I flipped on the outside light, and locked the door behind me. This shouldn't take too long. I was looking forward to going to bed.

It was a bit after nine, but it was dark. I wondered why Henry was leaving early, and smiled remembering what Nate, the mechanic who had fixed my tire months ago, had said about Henry's truck – it had nine lives. Well, I guess it's now down to eight.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Red Pony, I noticed a couple of cars still lined up along the front entrance. Kelly must be closing tonight, I thought.

As I entered, I heard voices: laughing, talking, echoing in the cavernous room.

Samantha and Ethan, Yvonne and Lester, Walt, Kelly, Ferg, Henry. They were sitting at a few round tables facing a large screen watching a montage of pictures filter by. _My_ life flashing before _their_ eyes.

I stopped, unable to move forward, my heart pounding the breath from my lungs. Larger than life, me with Maasai women carrying water in plastic jerry cans strapped to our backs. Me teaching local children in a one room, cinder block schoolhouse with no glass in the windows, mats on the dirt floor, no desks or chairs. My team laughing, playing soccer (or as some of my team would call it – football) in a dusty field with villagers, young and not so young.

Kelly turned and saw me standing there, shocked.

"Umm." She tapped Henry's shoulder guiltily.

The rest turned; a range of expressions from sheepish to concern.

I glared, swallowed hard, trying to control my temper. I felt violated, betrayed. How could they? This was _my_ life. _My_ memories. Why would they do this behind my back?

"I hope you don't get the wrong impression," I said stonily. "Kenya is not all poverty and desert. There's a lot of beauty there, too."

Henry rose, walked toward me, his hand outstretched. "How was your day?" he asked gently.

"It _was_ fine." I pulled back angrily avoiding his gesture. "This was your doing?"

He quickly glanced back at the others. "Yes." He admitted. "I am sorry if I have overstepped my bounds. This was an important day for you, and I thought that we would show our support by being here for you."

"By going through my life? How did you get these pictures?" I demanded.

"That would be my fault." I heard a voice from the monitor.

Looking past Henry to the screen on the wall, I felt the wind knocked from my body for a second time in less than five minutes. Brook. His huge head, grinning a Cheshire cat grin.

"I would say _happy anniversary,_ but I do not believe that would be appropriate. Instead, I will say, it is very good to see you, my friend."

I stumbled forward, stunned, my hand to my heart, my friends smiling around me. Anger replaced by shock.

"Your friends and I have been talking while we were waiting for you. I have shown them pictures of what you have done, how many lives you have touched." He paused for a moment becoming somber. "I have also shown them the news video of the attack." My chest constricted as I felt myself begin to hyperventilate. "You are a very special person and I wanted them to understand and appreciate that. Funny, though, they already did." He chuckled; that deep, low sound that warmed me to my toes. "There are many people here who would like to say hello, so I am going to take the computer for a walk."

I lowered myself into a chair while Henry sat beside me, taking my hand in his.

Brook's laptop was lifted, its camera focusing ahead at his chest level. We were "walking" through the bunkhouse, out through the main office, and out into the rising sun, the one that Henry had frozen. It would be six-thirty the next morning there. Nine hours difference. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the familiar chant of the welcome song, and Brook turned to a group of villagers dancing and singing in brightly colored traditional costume. When they were done, the children ran toward Brook, waving and cheering to the camera.

"Julia!" they called. "We miss you!"

"_Salamu!_ I miss you, too," I returned waving back to the screen. "How is it we can see each other? Where's the camera?" I asked Henry who pointed to Ferg.

"I propped a webcam on a tripod over there." He pointed to a spot near the stage. "You just have to stay in this area, and they'll see you."

Brook moved on, and I was able to see and speak with those of my team who were still there. Some had been transferred, but that was the nature of the job. We all knew it. Captain Chris Bennett was one of them. He and a few others had been shipped to Darfur.

Brook stopped at one point and scanned the horizon. The image got blurry as he moved, then slowly came back into focus. In the distance, a magnificent lion paced the edge of the compound.

"Kuru." My voice was barely a whisper. My heart tugged hard. The one creature who would not understand why I was gone. He came to me in my dreams.

"He still comes around," Brook said. "Not as much now. At first, we could tell, he was looking for you. His call at night was mournful. It even affected Commander Lewis. I cannot imagine what will happen when the rest of us leave."

I felt the tears, but knew the drill. Mandera was the longest place we had ever stayed. "South Sudan next," I stated to Brook's solemn nod.

After our rounds in the village and on base, Brook brought me back to the barracks.

"There is one more stop to make." He entered the main office, and two men sat at my old desk.

I instinctively rose to my feet, and gave a quick, half-bow. "_Mabwana, ni heshima yangu_." (Gentlemen, it is my honor.)

"No," the first man said with a very heavy accent. "The honor is ours. When Captain Brook told us of this plan, we could not let this day pass without being part of it." Ganjawi leaned closer to the camera.

"Because of you," Mirembe added, "we are alive, and the treaty we forged together still holds strong. We will maintain what we have worked for. That is a promise."

"I am glad to hear it." I eased back into my seat. "Captain Brook keeps me informed."

"We know." Both men smiled, leaning toward each other to fit onto the screen. "It was difficult at first without you, but we have adjusted, something we are told you must do as well."

I took a deep breath, nodding. "Adjustment is not easy."

"Change never is. But, you are strong. You have survived worse. You will overcome this. Find strength in the earth for She will provide it. Find strength in those around you for they are your support. We must go, but we will stay in touch." They held their hands up in an old gesture of peace, bowed their heads, and stood to leave.

I could see Brook maneuver the laptop onto the desk to bid the tribal leaders good-bye before returning to me. Then, taking his place once again, he looked out over my gathering.

"You have made good friends there, Jewel. They care about you."

I nodded, unable to speak. Henry moved his hand to my shoulder, a familiar gesture I had come to know. Samantha moved in next wrapping her arm around me, followed by Yvonne and Lester by my side, then Ethan. My support group. Who needed therapy? I had friends. I smiled through the tears.

"I miss you," I choked.

"I know. And, I miss you." My big, strong MP's chin quivered as he pressed his lips together. "We will speak again." He cleared this throat. "I have sent another video. You can watch it to end this chat."

I sighed. "Saying good-bye is so hard."

Brook broke into a wide smile. "It is never good-bye." I joined him in ending. "It is - until we meet again."


	3. Chapter 3 - All In A Day's Work

**3 – All In A Day's Work**

"Are you still angry?"

I groaned, long and low, as Henry crept up my body, fingers lightly dancing over my skin closely followed by tender lips.

" 'bout what?" I moaned feeling him smirk against my stomach.

"Nothing," he replied mischievously, continuing his travels.

My breath caught sharply as he latched onto a taunt nipple, clever tongue making me arc for more. My fingers ran down his spine spanning his lower back, pulling him closer.

"You want something?" He drew up to face me as my right leg wrapped around his hip.

"Yes." I languidly flexed my hips in anticipation.

With a firm, slow stroke, he was inside warming my soul, a rhythm that seemed as natural as breathing.

The moon was setting, the night clear when we finally curled against each other fully sated. It had been an exhausting day and a rollercoaster night. It didn't take long to get over the initial sense of betrayal. Most of those pictures were somewhere on the web anyway. You just had to know where to look. But, knowing that Brook had selected them made me feel less violated. I hadn't even known that he and Henry had spoken. I hadn't introduced them yet, but they'd been planning this night for over a week. How could I stay angry with that? It was genuine concern, and it wasn't like they were being shown to the general public, just a few close friends. My men. Such sweethearts. I sighed and snuggled closer drifting into a blissful sleep.

Sugar's bark was wild turning into a frantic whine and yip. I could hear her claws anxiously tap the hardwood floor of the living room. My feet swung over the edge of the bed before my eyes were fully open. Panicked instinct. Stumbling, I grabbed Henry's t-shirt from the bed post, slipping it over my head as I dashed from the room. Running into Henry in the corridor as he rapidly emerged from the bathroom, shirtless, his pants dangling around his hips, we quickly followed Sugar's yelps.

In the living room, she was ready to knock down the front door, wild with excitement. I'd never seen her respond like that to anything.

"What on earth?" Henry asked, stunned.

"Not a clue," I answered gabbing hold of her collar as Henry peered out the curtain on the front door.

He let out a deflating sigh, shoulders sagging, then swung it open. Walt stood on the opposite side in the early morning sun, head down, hat in hand.

"Good God, dog!" I exclaimed as Sugar broke free to greet the sheriff, her tail wagging so hard I thought she was going to pee herself.

He bent to greet her in return, giving an affectionate scratch between the ears.

"I, um, didn't mean to interrupt." He looked sheepish, seeing that we were both only partially dressed.

Henry waved off the comment, motioning him in while Sugar continued to prance around the sheriff's knees.

"What brings you here this bright, sunny morning?" Henry eased his backside onto the back of the sofa, waiting.

Walt pressed his lips together. "I need your help." He cut straight to the chase. "Two hikers missed their check-in last night at Rocky Ridge. Without the guide's knowledge, they separated from the group. No one noticed until they were back at base. A search team backtracked on the set trail last night, but couldn't find them. We could use an experienced tracker. You up to it?"

Henry was already pulling his boots on, and I'd gone into the kitchen to make a coffee to go. "Give me a minute." He strode down the hall to finish getting dressed.

Walt stood awkwardly in the foyer, Sugar finally scurrying after me to the kitchen for her breakfast.

"I'm sorry about last night," he finally said. "I didn't know they were going to dig into your past, let alone show it. I made you a promise."

I smiled kindly at him while packing a small knapsack for Henry. "Don't worry about it. No damage done. Made me realize I have friends."

Walt pressed his lips together and gave a half nod as Henry re-emerged. Then, tipped his head toward Sugar as she trotted around the counter, licking her lips. "She's a scent dog, right?"

I nodded.

"You think she could help in the search?"

I thought for a moment. I wasn't Sugar's handler but had some experience with search dogs. "Are your hikers carrying C-4?" I deadpanned, knowing they obviously weren't.

Walt's brows furrowed. "I don't think so."

"Sugar's a bomb dog," I stated. "She might be able to help, but I doubt it. Dogs are trained differently for different situations. Search and rescue dogs have a much higher "play" level and a strong sense of smell for humans. They're not as cautious and are eager to find a person. Whereas, bomb dogs are hyper cautious and are trained to focus on more hazardous scents. If it were someone she knew, like me, you or Henry, that may be a different story, but I'd hate to get out there only to have her follow Henry around. I wouldn't want to interfere with the search."

Walt nodded in understanding as Henry took the pack and coffee from me. As they headed for the door, he stopped, backtracked, and gave me a quick kiss good-bye.

"I will call when I can."

"Do what you need to do." I cupped his cheek. "Find the lost souls."

The drive to Rocky Ridge was a quiet one. Not uncomfortable. Just the quiet between friends.

"She's nice," Walt finally said when they were half way there.

Henry slowly nodded as he gazed out the Bronco's passenger window.

"I take it she forgave you." Walt smirked giving a sideways glance to his companion.

Henry nodded again, a slow curl playing at his lips.

"Sorry to interrupt your morning off." Walt was grinning now.

Henry's smile was mischievous. "Something else to apologize for."

The entrance to Rocky Ridge State Park on the northeast side of the Big Horn Mountains was guarded by a small, brown, wooden check-in building. Tables and boards were set up in the grassy picnic area on the right, and people milled about waiting for their next set of instructions.

Walt pulled into a parking spot near the main rangers' station, and he and Henry got out to join the group. Shaking hands with other volunteers, they made their way to the search grid posted on a large bulletin board. A heavy-set, middle-aged warden, with salt and pepper brown hair and traditional ranger's uniform, was sticking red push pins into the map.

"Thanks for coming." He shook Walt's hand. "These are the areas already searched." He pointed to the map. "We've got a couple of dogs out, but they haven't picked up anything concrete yet. The guide can't firmly identify where or when the girls left the group. Apparently, they were always last, and they just weren't there when the group returned to base."

"Girls?" Walt's concern grew. "How old?"

The warden pointed to the pictures on the board of two young women. "Cassidy Wilks. Humanities major at Sheridan College. Nineteen. Five eight, approximately one hundred and twenty pounds. Apparently, she's a blond now." He referred to the picture of the smiling brunette with a streak of purple through her bangs, deep blue eyes, and a dimple in her right cheek. "Last seen wearing red hiking shorts and a red and blue checkered shirt, navy backpack. Her friend," he pointed to the second picture, "Bonnie Lingdrum. Social studies major at the same school. Twenty. Five nine. Approximately one hundred and thirty pounds. Last seen wearing black hiking shorts and a yellow t-shirt. Black and red backpack." The pleasant face of the attractive brunette stared down at them. "Both girls should have basic emergency supplies in their packs. Part of the hike. You carried your own stuff. Food. Clothing. Sleeping bags. But, they were on their way out. I don't know how much food or water they would have had left."

"This was a school trip?" Henry asked.

The warden nodded. "Of sorts. Student Union organized, but not a course. Just a bunch of kids, twelve of them, wanting to _"do something meaningful"_." He rolled his eyes. "At least they had the sense to hire a guide."

"And, no one saw them leave," Walt clarified.

"No," the warden replied shortly. "I found that strange, too. They'd been together for a couple of days. But, apparently, they weren't all friends, not enemies though, and the girls kept mostly to themselves."

"Okay." Henry leaned forward to take a better look at the map. The trail was highlighted in red, and he ran his finger from the last known indication of the girls to the home base, a good six miles with a lot of brush and obstacles in the way. "The dogs have picked up nothing?"

"They did for a while, then lost the scent near the creek and couldn't get it back," the warden replied. "We checked on both sides. Nothing."

"What are you thinking?" Walt asked his friend.

"I think that is the best place to start." He pointed to an open clearing by the creek where the slope seemed to suddenly rise sharply into the trees. "If the girls were last scented around there," he pulled his backpack on, "there must be some evidence of where they went next even if the dogs did not pick it up."

Henry took a walkie talkie from Walt and clipped it to his belt. "I will keep in touch," he acknowledged as he headed out.

"Hey," a young ranger called as Henry headed into the woods alone. "You can't do that!" He anxiously looked back at his boss.

"Yes, he can," the warden confirmed. "If he can't find them, no one can."

Birds twittered overhead as Henry marched purposefully toward the spot where he thought he should begin. It would be over an hour's walk, and he took the time to think. Two young women. College students. From what the others had said, they had little camping experience and weren't much for the outdoors. So, why had they come? To be involved? To join a group? But, the guide had said they hadn't interacted much with the others. It was a puzzle. The name Cassidy Wilks sounded familiar, and he tried to place it. Did he know her parents? He shook his head. He knew a lot of people.

Henry paused for a moment on a little-used trail, closing his eyes and breathing the crisp pine fragrance. The light breeze whispered through the tree tops, and there was a rusting in the underbrush to his left. His lips curled up peacefully – a small animal, no doubt. He tipped his head back and opened his palms forward by his sides, inviting the energy from the forest to join his spirit, asking for Maheo's help in finding the lost girls. A minute passed, then two, before he opened his eyes and gazed at the surroundings. Kneeling, he touched the earth, studying it. Rising, he moved on until he reached the creek.

It was obvious that others had been there. The ground was trampled, and there were paw prints from the search and rescue dogs. This is where they'd lost the scent. Henry bent to pick up a gum wrapper stuffing it into his pocket.

If the girls didn't continue with the group from this point, they must have wandered off in another direction from this location. Had they fallen asleep and no one thought to wake them? Doubtful. Were they looking at something and strolled too far? Surely, the dogs would have picked up their scent. The only logical solution was that they had wandered into the creek. But, why? He sat cross-legged on the edge of the water to think, eyes closed, palms up, opening himself.

After a moment, he stood and called Walt, pinpointing his location and letting his friend know that he was heading south, downstream. He had a hunch.

If the girls were doing what he suspected, and he hoped he was wrong, walking upstream would be too difficult, and they didn't seem the type to invite the difficult. The creek wasn't deep or wide, so technically they could walk quite a distance in the water before they had to get out. Henry took off his boots and socks and waded knee deep into the frigid stream. His feet immediately cramped, but he aimed for the middle and began his trek south examining both sides of the bank for evidence of where they may have emerged.

Within the first fifteen minutes, the cold subsided and a comfortable numbness took over. He could have cut his feet to shreds on the rocks and not know it. An hour later, the creek widened into a larger stream, and the water began to move faster. Trees thickened and stretched all the way to the banks.

He heard them before he saw them, laughing and chatting just beyond the stand of Lodge pine on the right.

Pulling himself out with an overhanging branch, he sat on a fallen log to dry his feet and put his boots back on. He was beginning to fume. Did they not realize the consequences of their actions?

Silently moving through the trees, he thought that he could probably trample right in and they still wouldn't notice, but he wanted the element of surprise. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they were just waiting for help. Maybe… _Forever the optimist_, he thought shaking his head.

The girls were sprawled in the sun, soaking up the rays as if on a beach somewhere in the Caribbean. They were stripped down to their underwear even in the cool sixty-five degrees. What were they thinking? He listened for a moment.

"They say he's a Shaman," Cassidy said stretching luxuriously. "I took his course on Native Spirituality last year. It was so cool, and he's so hot."

Bonnie rolled onto her stomach on her sleeping bag. "Rumor is he's a player. Never married. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

Cassidy rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow, smiling roguishly. "Might be worth it."

You have got to be kidding? Now, he remembered. Cassidy Wilks. Winter semester last year. He occasionally taught or lectured at Sheridan and Gillette colleges. She was, well, eager to learn more and for three months, everywhere he turned, she was there. He felt like leaving and calling Walt with their location, but he just couldn't do it.

"Good afternoon, ladies." Henry approached through the trees anger simmering in the pit of his stomach.

The girls jumped but made no attempt to cover themselves.

"Thank heavens, you found us." Cassidy dramatically threw up her hands. "We got lost and figured we'd stay put until someone found us."

"Many people have been looking for you. Search dogs even. It is a wonder how you managed to avoid being tracked." He glared. His suspicions seemed to be right. They had planned this.

Bonnie bit her lip and gazed at her friend.

"Bonnie fell into the creek," Cassidy continued. "And, we played for a bit. Then, we noticed that the others had moved on, and we were afraid to get out. We figured it would be safer to stay in the water, you know, no bears or anything."

Henry's brows furrowed. He wasn't buying it. "Get dressed," he ordered, looking away. "Walt," he spoke into the walkie talkie. "I have them. We are about an hour south of the spot where they were last scented. There is a fire break about half an hour west of here. I'll meet you there."

As they started their trek out, he overheard Cassidy giggle to her friend, "See, I told you he'd be the one to find us."


	4. Chapter 4 - New Directions

**4 –New Directions**

If someone had asked me five years ago what I thought I'd be doing in the next few years, the answer would have been very clear - exactly what I had been doing since my first volunteer summer after high school – helping people. If someone had asked me two years ago _where_ I thought I would be, again, the answer would have been very clear - in the poverty-stricken, war-torn areas of East Africa, doing what I'd been doing for the past thirty years – helping people. Hell, even as lost as I felt a few months ago, if someone had asked where I was going in life, this certainly would not have been my answer.

I smiled to myself, standing on the back balcony of Henry's beautiful, little house overlooking a field of dry prairie grass spotted with low shrubs in the mid-September sun, a cool breeze fluttering the clothes on the line. I reached to pin a pair of Henry's boxers next to my bra, and the sight suddenly struck me as funny. I started to giggle which grew into a full-fledged, gut-rolling, hands-on-knees laugh. Who'd'a thought, I wiped a tear away with the back of my hand, that I'd be in Northern Wyoming on an Indian reservation hanging laundry for my Cheyenne lover. Anyone who knew me would have found it as preposterous as I did, but then again, anyone who knew me knew that I rarely followed the conventional path.

But, what a path it had been. Some would call it an adventure. It was certainly different. But, for the first time in a long time, I felt safe, secure, comfortable. I didn't have to sleep with one eye, or ear, open. I actually slept. And, I didn't have to keep watch over my shoulder. It felt good. Henry was an incredible man. A man of many talents so I was learning. Business owner. Tracker. Spiritual leader. Teacher. I considered myself lucky to have met such a special person.

Finishing with the clothes, I picked up the basket and headed into the house as my cell phone rang. Placing the basket on the kitchen floor, I looked at the unknown number on the keypad and answered.

"Farine."

"Director Farine." The male voice on the other end was deep and crisp. "This is Commander Briggs. National Guard Headquarters. Cheyenne, Wyoming." He paused to let the information settle as my nerves began to jingle.

"Good morning, Commander," I formally replied, my heart leaping into my throat nearly choking the next words. "How may I help you?" That may have been the wrong question, I thought, after the words were out.

After a moment's pause, he responded, "I have a proposition for you."

Twenty minutes later, sitting on the front porch swing with the phone still in my hand, my stomach in knots, my heart pounding in my chest, a silly grin on my face, my mind reeled at 100 mph.

I'd had an offer that I couldn't refuse. Commander Briggs had invited me to the National Guard Headquarters. Monday. 2 pm. He had received the letter I had written two weeks ago, after my quest, outlining my desire to use my experience to motivate the youth, and after reviewing my qualifications was eager to meet with me.

At the present, he was interested in having me speak at an inauguration ceremony at the Cheyenne base at the end of the month.

Not only that, but…

He was directly connected with the ARNG divisions in the local colleges and at the University of Wyoming. _Someone of my expertise would be a great asset as a guest speaker. Would I be interested?_

Hell, yes!

I was thrilled.

I fidgeted with my phone. God! I really wanted to call Henry and share the news. But, Kelly was off sick today, and a new shipment of supplies was coming in for the weekend. He would be so busy, and I didn't want to interfere. And, it was going to be a late night. I'd have to be patient and wait. I tapper the arm rest with my fingertips.

Sugar sensed my mood and trotted toward me with a ball in her mouth, dropping it at my feet. I smiled, giving her a scratch between the ears, then stood and tossed it from the steps onto the gravel drive as she leaped from the platform to give chase. Time to play. As she ran, I headed down the stairs, and when she returned, she teased with a catch-me-if-you-can move of dodging my attempts to retrieve the ball from her. I laughed as she cleverly won. But, when she was ready, she dropped it at my feet, and we played for a while longer. Eventually, she gave up, nearly emptied her water dish, then headed for the front door. I smiled knowing what she wanted. As much as she tried to deny it, she was getting old and after such rigorous play, a nap was in order. Giving her an affectionate rub, I opened the screen door, and she trotted directly to her bed, circling twice, then flopping down with a heavy sigh.

This gave me the opportunity to do some research on my computer. Since coming back to Wyoming in July, I hadn't travelled anywhere. I figured I'd done enough driving to last me a while. Besides, I enjoyed being settled in one place. But, to have the opportunity to visit the state capital and the National Guard … I rubbed my hands together anxiously before logging on.

For the next two hours, I keyed in _Wyoming,_ _National Guard of Cheyenne, Wyoming_, _History of Wyoming_, etc., drifting from link to link, reading and studying. What I found was fascinating and unexpected, and showed my just how little I knew about the state I had chosen to live in.

Cheyenne was a city of just over fifty-nine thousand and looked like a radical mix of old-school western and modern architecture. You could find a log cabin on the rolling hills on the outskirts as well as classic bungalows in town, and then there were some buildings more than a hundred years old. Many storefronts tried to keep the old-style construction while the newer businesses went for the modern look. There were museums and historical sites, a Farmer's Market, university, even an old Pacific Union train station. The VA hospital was there. I sighed. Although I had seen a recommended doctor here at the local hospital, I was told to check in with the VA if I had an opportunity. Not being military, though, I was hesitant to use their facilities, but they were more specialized in my type of injuries. Cheyenne seemed to be the military hub of the area, with the National Guard being founded there back in 1870 when Wyoming was still just a territory.

Cheyenne also had interesting art throughout the city – among them, cool, seven-foot high boots. Artists were invited to paint them, and the individuality of each was fantastic!

The more I researched, the more excited I became. I wanted to leave immediately so I could explore for the first few days. I looked at the time. It would be a four hour drive, at least. And, I would have to make hotel reservations. Or, maybe I could just hook up the Prolite. Hmmm.

The commander had sent the direction via e-mail, and had booked me for Monday night at the Super 8 near F.E. Warren Air Force Base. I could call them and extend my stay.

Leaning back, I looked at the time again and gazed at the screen.


	5. Chapter 5 - When Opportunity Knocks (Ope

A/N - Thank heavens October is over. It was a tough one. Thank you for being patient and I hope this next chapter makes up for the last one being so short. Enjoy.

Dani

**5 – When Opportunity Knocks (Open The Damn Door!)**

The I-25 south was long and flat. Clusters of trees and fields of short, brown grass stretched as far the eye could see. Fences. Cows. Buffalo. The periodical sign: directions or billboards, the occasional house, but other than that, it was pretty empty.

The sun was high, and the breeze was cool. The windows were down as Sugar lifted her head between the front seats, tongue lolling, eyes bright. We were on the move again. She sensed the excitement.

I had informed Commander Briggs about Sugar and was assured that service dogs were welcome at the hotels in the area especially in the one that we'd be staying at as it served the base. I'd also made an appointment with a doctor at the VA Medical Center. I'd had a full eval in June at Mount Sinai, so this was more of a _"Hi. I'm in the neighborhood"_ -type visit than anything. Butterflies filled my stomach as the road flew beneath us.

"Check-in isn't until 3pm," I announced looking at the clock glow 12 noon on the dash. "We have lots of time. Any suggestions on what to do first?"

"A walk around the city would be a good idea to orientate yourself." Henry grinned from the driver's seat of my car.

"Sounds good." I grinned back as we approached the turn off.

I was glad I'd waited. This was his territory, his land. I wanted him to be my guide, and he was happy to oblige. It was Sunday. Kelly was back on her feet and willing to oversee things until we returned on Tuesday.

Pulling into a public parking lot near the center of the city, we spent the afternoon walking the streets of old and new Cheyenne. Those seven-foot high boots were even more fascinating up close. The artwork was amazing.

We approached the VA Medical Center on East Pershing Street, near Brimmer Park, and walked the grounds. There was a neatly maintained grassy circle, in front of the red brick building, that was lined with flowers and flags. Clean and respectful. I felt tension rise and constrict my chest. Hospitals. I'd spent too much time in them. Sugar banged against my legs when she felt me falter, as if to say, "It's okay. I'm here for you."

Later in the afternoon, we drove past the Joint Forces Readiness Center and the building on Bishop Street where I would have my interview the following day. It was a modern but simple building. A lot of brick and glass. And, easy to get to from the hotel.

The University of Wyoming's Laramie Community College was off College Street. It was just one of the many outreach colleges of the large state university in Laramie. I smiled thinking of how happy Aaron had been when he received his acceptance letter. He had driven to Henry's house at the beginning of the month to tell us, nearly bursting with pride relaying that he was not only eligible for the GI Bill which paid for his tuition and residence, but also a Native Grant which would pay for a few extras, and that he could start right away even though the term had already begun. They'd help him catch up. I had steered him to as many resources as I knew, and the Native Grant had come through quickly. There was another one still pending. He had earned it, I thought, with three tours oversees in his four years as a Marine. He'd be studying at Casper College, about an hour and a half south of Durant, in Social and Behavioral Sciences, specifically International Studies. Casper College was one of the many colleges linked with the main university and was the first to offer additional support to the National Guard Education Assistance Program, particularly for Native students. The fact that it was also very culturally open, with a contingent of foreign-exchange students, would provide a fantastic experience for him. Henry and I were equally thrilled for his opportunity.

Around five, we pulled into the parking lot of the infamous Steamboat Steak and Smokehouse on Dell Range. It was already packed, and a line was forming on the paved walkway. Henry touted the restaurant as one of the best and one of his favorites. It looked charming. A huge silo (or maybe it was supposed to be an old water tower?) stood tall outside the front door advertising the restaurant, and its polished wooden posts reminded me a bit of the Red Pony… only a whole lot bigger.

"Well, I'll be dammed." A large man in blue jeans and a blue and red plaid shirt lumbered forward through the crowd, hand outstretched as we entered the rustic building. "Thought you'd check out the competition or you here for the best steak and pulled pork in the state?"

The man nearly matched Henry in height but easily outweighed him by a hundred pounds. He grabbed Henry's hand, yanking him into a hilarious man-hug, slapping his back, nearly crushing Henry's lanky frame.

"It is good to see you, as well, Tom." Henry smiled, prying himself loose. "You may have the best steak and pulled pork, but I still have the best buffalo burgers and cheesy fries," he joked.

"That's a fact. That's a fact." Tom nodded, his jowls bouncing under his bald head. "Where are my manners?" He extended a ballooned hand to me. "Tom Miller. Proprietor of the Steamboat. You're a pretty one." He winked at Henry. "She the reason you haven't been around this summer? You dog!"

Henry was nearly swatted off his feet as the man's giant paw hit his shoulder.

I raised an amused eyebrow.

"It has been a busy summer. Julia, this is Tom. Tom, Julia." He finally made introductions.

"Pleasure's all mine, Ma'am." Tom shook my hand heartily and held on, a rascally grin on his round face. Keeping hold, he hooked my arm into the crook of his elbow and led me into the restaurant. Henry followed a few steps behind. Choosing a perfect table by a large window facing the street, he pulled the chair out and tucked it neatly under me as I sat. Raising his hand to signal a waiter, he turned to find Henry patiently standing beside him. "You still here?" he playfully teased. "Thought we got rid'a you in the crowd. Oh, well." He jokingly shrugged. "Suppose you can sit, too." He pulled the opposite chair out and motioned for Henry to sit.

When the waiter arrived with the menus, Tom gave a slight bow and excused himself to attend other business.

"Close friend?" I asked once he was out of earshot.

Henry smirked. "We go back."

The menu was incredible. Diverse to suit all tastes. I chose from the Green'er'Pastures column – a Sweet Water Salad with mixed greens, honey ham, grilled chicken, and cheese. Henry ordered from the Best Out West column – Happy Jack's Ribs – all you can eat – with jalapeno corn-slaw, choice of salad and western fries – oh, and cowboy baked beans. I humorously warned him that he may be sleeping in the hall. He said he'd crack a window if necessary.

As the wait-staff buzzed around us, I gazed at the platters of food being served amazed at the voraciousness of peoples' appetites. The quantity could feed a small village, and most people were clearing their plates. I wondered about a doggie bag, and not for my dog…

Tom joined us again near the end of the meal saying that he'd be in Durant in the next few weeks to try to steal Carl, the Red Pony cook, from Henry once again. It was an ongoing, friendly rivalry, and Carl enjoyed the attention, but assured Henry that he wasn't going anywhere.

Bidding Tom "good-bye", Henry cradled his stomach as we exited the restaurant. The meal had been incredible, but I think the second helping of ribs and corn-slaw put him over the edge. As for me, well, yes, I did end up with a doggie bag, and yes, Sugar did get her share. Hey, I couldn't leave her in the car and not bring her anything. She was very appreciative.

The rest of the evening was quiet, spent in the hotel room prepping for the following morning.

With the sun still sitting on the horizon, I crept out of bed, dressing in the dark of the curtained room. Grabbing Sugar's knapsack from beside the door, I took her for a long walk. It was only 6:30. Frost decorated car windows, and my breath puffed out like smoke. Fall would be in another week, but to me, it already felt like winter. It was cold!

Halfway through the walk, we found a little park with benches and I sat, opened the knapsack, and fed her breakfast while munching on a granola bar. When we returned to the hotel, Henry was stirring.

"I will never understand how you can rise so early," he groaned from under the covers.

"My body is used to it. I don't think I could sleep in if I wanted to."

"Try." He flipped the edge of the blankets down, arm outstretched, inviting me back into bed.

As I bent to untie my shoes and take off my jacket, my place in the warm, vacant spot was filled by a cold, black ball of fur giving Henry a "good morning" face wash.

Laughter filled the room.

Breakfast was a muffin and tea in the hotel lounge, followed by a forty-five minute trip to the hotel gym to loosen a few muscles. Then, it was time to get ready.

My appointment at the VA was at 10:30, and the one at the NGH was at 2pm. Henry had plans after dropping me off but said he would return whenever I called. We intended to go to lunch before my next appointment.

Coming out of the bathroom, I apprehensively ran my hands over my dress blues – navy chinos and light blue dress shirt, UN insignia on the left front shoulder, my dark blond hair slicked back under the light blue beret, straight-cut navy jacket with UN global emblem on the left chest pocket.

Henry's eyes widened. He'd never seen me in uniform.

"This isn't necessary for the VA, but if we're not coming back here before this afternoon, I figured I'd go prepared." I tugged at the shirt. "Still a bit tight. I don't think I'll ever get back to my Kenyan weight. Damn American food." I smirked. I had grown a fondness for peanut butter.

Henry strode to face me, wrapping a hand around my waist, and stopping me from tugging again. "You look incredible. Blue suits you. For some reason I did not expect a uniform." He smiled.

I tipped my head up and smiled back. "Depends on the situation. The fact that I'm a Peacekeeper, even a civilian one, puts me in uniform. If I had remained strictly a humanitarian, I wouldn't have the same authority to implement change."

"But, being a Peacekeeper put you in more danger." Henry solemnly gazed down at me.

"Being in a war zone put me in danger regardless of my job," I soberly replied.

At 10:15, Henry and Sugar once again stood by my side on the path that led to the VA hospital. Like yesterday, my chest constricted and my breathing became labored. Panic. Nausea. I needed to control it. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take a slow breath. Henry's hand found its way to the center of my back, that ever present reassurance that he was there for me. I exhaled slowly, then opened my eyes as Henry turned me to face him.

"I am not going far." He placed his hands on my shoulders. "Call me when you are ready."

Handing Sugar's leash over, I gripped a blue canvas pouch that held my health documents in my right hand. Giving Sugar a scratch between the ears and an apprehensive smile to Henry, I drew my shoulders back and strode up the path. Two young soldiers coming down the steps instinctively saluted before continuing on their way. I smiled. The unexpected recognition to the uniform eased some of the anxiety.

Doctor Ephraim Webb's office was on the main floor, on the left, past the polished wood reception desk, and down a sterile, tiled hallway. The door was partially ajar, so I pushed it open and walked into the small sitting room. The main receptionist had already sent word that I was on my way, and the young woman behind a tiny desk smiled at me.

"Director Farine." She rose to shake my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Dr. Webb has been informed of your arrival. Do you have your papers?"

"Yes," I replied handing over the pouch. "There is a paper file and a USB key with all my pertinent information – history, x-rays, medications."

She nodded efficiently taking the file and knocking on the doctor's door before ushering me in.

I couldn't help but smile at the aged man behind the desk: his round, wire-rim glasses sat at the end of his nose as he studied something on his computer screen. If it weren't for the technology, he looked like a throw-back from times gone by: white, tousled hair, white lab coat, red and blue polka dot bow tie tucked under the starched white collar of his starch with shirt. He looked up and easily stood, hand extended.

"A UN director," he blew out, amused. "We get all kinds, but you're a first. Please, please, sit down."

He took the folder from his secretary, opened it, and laid out the paper file. Flipping through the pages, his smile faded before getting to the last sheet. He glanced up, then back at the file, then back at me.

"Been through a bit, haven't you?" He leaned back, folding his fingers across his waist, and held my eyes.

I pressed my lips together and slowly nodded. "The x-rays are on the USB key."

He took the key from the pouch and plugged it into the side of his computer, opening the file from the Nairobi Hospital. They were the first to attend to my injuries. Dr. Webb's face grew serious as he examined the frames. He, then, opened the file from Mount Sinai Hospital and read the progress reports. Raising his eyebrows, he shook his head slightly.

"Please, stand," he instructed as he rose and came around the desk. "Turn around." He motioned with his finger.

He placed his right hand on my lower back where one of the wounds was, the one that had taken part of my kidney.

"Does this hurt?" he asked slowly applying pressure.

"No," I answered.

"Does it ever?"

"Yes. But, mostly it's a constant discomfort. Not pain, just uncomfortable."

He _hmmed_. "I noticed a limp as you came in. Does the leg injury still bother you or is the limp from the back injury?"

"Mostly from the back but the leg still hurts at times. I get sharp pains once in a while. Depends on what I'm doing. I'm stiff until I get moving."

"The bullet went through your hamstring." He nodded. "That takes a long time to heal. Between that and your back, you're lucky to be on your feet at all." He gestured to an adjoining room. "I'd like to see for myself."

An hour and a half later, I exited the hospital.

Quick exam. New x-rays done. Modification to my meds. I was really pleased to have them decreased, and the painkillers were "only as needed". I hated pills.

I spoke briefly to the staff shrink about how I was handling my PTSD. He was surprised but touched when I told him about Sugar and our story, and thought my situation as a "prairie dog", as I called it, sounded serene. He gave me his card and told me to call if I needed.

Dr. Webb took me on a quick tour of the facilities, and I met a few patients who were doing physiotherapy. The doctor then instructed that, on my return in December, I come prepared to have a physio exam. Every six months. Though he was impressed, he wanted to keep on top of my progress.

I spotted Henry before he spotted me, Sugar obediently by his side. What a handsome pair they made. Then, Sugar's nose picked up and she scented, her head spinning in my direction. She made a one-step tug on the leash to draw Henry's attention, and when he responded, they started toward me.

"Everything went well?" he asked as I reached to take Sugar's leash and scratch her head.

I nodded. "He wants to see me again in December and has Dr. Warner's number at the hospital in Durant, just in case."

It was noon. The streets were getting crowded with lunchtime patrons. I was too anxious to be hungry, but I knew Henry would be. There wasn't much in the area, so we hopped back in the car and headed toward central Cheyenne: Lincolnway and West 20th Street seemed to have the most eating establishments, everything from Starbucks to the Drunken Skunk. Been to a few sketchy places but that one looked a little odd even for me.

We parked on a side street and walked for a few blocks, laughing and commenting on the various choices available – Mexican, Italian, Chinese, American, _no African_, I joked. But, I was amazed at the variety in such a condensed area and stopped to read the bilingual menu in a Mongolian restaurant window.

"Henry." We heard the call through the crowd. "Henry Standing Bear."

Henry stretched to see over people's heads as a tall man in a tailored suit and striped tie approached, grinning pleasantly.

"I thought it was you." He reached his hand in greeting. "It must be fate. I was thinking about you this morning."

"Good afternoon, Dean. It is always a pleasure. What brings you to Cheyenne?" Henry shook the man's hand.

"Conference at Laramie College," he responded a bit out of breath from the half-jog to catch up to us. "I may ask you the same thing. You're pretty far from home. I heard what happened with the girls from Sheridan. Damn lucky you didn't just leave them in the woods when you found out they'd got lost on purpose just for your benefit. Not like you, though, I suppose. Not your style."

"I cannot say that it did not cross my mind." Henry's lips drew into a thin line at the memory. "You wanted to talk with me?"

The man's smile widened. "I don't have your name on the roster this term. Your classes are always popular. I was hoping you would consider doing a class or two in the January semester?"

"I am scheduled to guest speak a few times at both Sheridan and Casper but beyond that have made no commitments. I have a business to run. Sharing my knowledge is something I enjoy, but teaching takes time that I do not always have."

"I know, but I was asked to chase you down, see if I would change your mind."

Henry glanced around, spotting me waiting patiently, not wanting to interrupt. He motioned that I join him.

"Dean Campbell," he introduced. "This is Julia Farine."

I approached and reached out my hand. My jacket was open, and I had removed my beret tucking it into my belt.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." We shook hands.

Dean looked at Henry whose smirk was steadily growing.

"Air Force?" He observed the blue uniform.

"United Nations," I clarified.

His eyes widened with excitement. "Then maybe I should be talking to you."

My brows furrowed, and I turned a curious look to Henry. "About what?" I questioned the stranger before me.

"Dean is the head of curriculum development in the Humanities at the University of Wyoming. It is his job to seek out new topics and implement new courses at the various colleges that the university supports. You two should talk." He grinned openly.

"Henry is a very popular lecturer on Native Spirituality, my expert in the field." He beamed. "Maybe Henry is right, though. Maybe we should talk. We're always looking for new ideas. What do you do at the UN?"

"Presently, I'm a consultant in East African Affairs," I answered cautiously.

"Which means?" he curiously prodded.

"I'm an expert in the culture and politics. I'm a humanitarian and was a mission director for a number of years."

He _hmmed_ and nodded. "And, the uniform?" he asked.

"I'm also a Peacekeeper. My last position was as a mediator and treaty negotiator."

He nodded, impressed. "So, why are you here?"

I nearly laughed out loud. "I get that a lot," I chuckled. "I was wounded in an incident that actually ended better than that sounds. My team was mediating the signing of a treaty on the Somalian-Kenyan boarder when we were attacked. The treaty was signed and is still in affect but there were casualties. My injuries got me sent back to the States."

Dean looked at Henry. "She live around you?"

Henry smiled affectionately. "She lives _with_ me."

Dean turned back to me, ecstatic. "I would definitely like to discuss this further. Would you be open to continuing this conversation?"

"Just what are we discussing?"

"I'd like to know more about you and your experiences. Do you have time now?" He looked at his watch.

I became apprehensive. I wasn't comfortable talking about myself to strangers. "Not really. I have an appointment in less than an hour."

"National Guard Headquarters," Henry added as I shot him a slight scowl.

"Then, I'll come to Durant. I was planning to head up that way anyway. Casper. Sheridan. Gillette. I'll be sure to make time for you. You just tell me when, and I'll be there."

"He's serious," Henry advised. "Dean is passionate about what he does and is very good at it. I have seen you with the younger generation. This is something you would excel at," he encouraged.

I agreed to a visit.

Dean went on his way, and time was running out, so we grabbed a bite to eat at a small take-out stand, taking it to a park bench.

"You are angry with me," Henry observed.

"Annoyed more than angry," I honestly replied.

"Why?" he asked biting into the hot dog.

"I'm so used to keeping my activities quiet that to have someone else volunteer information about me to a stranger feels uncomfortable."

Henry's brow furrowed. "I do not understand. When did I do this?"

"Dean Campbell. When I said I had an appointment, you told him where."

"I did not realize it was a secret."

"Not so much a secret as no one's business."

"I apologize. Dean is a good man. Enthusiastic about what he does. You have spoken about motivating the youth. I think you would make an excellent teacher. Dean is the man who could make that happen. That addition sparked his interest in you even more."

I sighed pressing my lips together. "I guess I'm overreacting."

Henry took my hand in his and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I hope you realize that I would never do anything to purposefully make you uncomfortable. If I have done this, I am sorry."

I gave his hand a squeeze, my lips twitching up. "I know. I'm sorry, too. Survival reflex."

Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the efficient, classically boring, grey office of the high command of the Wyoming National Guard.

"Commander Briggs. Director Farine." The young adjutant opened the door to his chief's office, smartly standing at attention with the introduction.

I confidently strode in as the commander came around his desk.

"Director." He shook my hand. "Not often we get someone of your caliber here. Please take a seat. Can I offer you coffee?"

"No, thank you," I replied taking a spot in an ancient leather chair near the desk. "I hope you don't mind that I brought my dog." Sugar sat primly by my side, nose high, regal, almost as if she, too, was at attention.

The commander smiled. "Not at all." He took his place behind his desk again. "I've read your file." He picked up a rather thick dossier and plopped it back down on the flat surface. "Hope you don't mind. I had Chuck do a little research." He indicated to the outer office and his assistant. "Impressive. Twenty-five years official UN. Five prior to that as a volunteer while attending college and university. Even got a university year docked off due to the extracurricular work. Masters in International Policy. Minor in languages. Kenya. Ethiopia. Sudan. Kazistan. Afghanistan. Switzerland. Germany. More," he hmphed. "You've been a lot of places. Done a lot of things."

I nodded slowly. "When there is a need and a door opens…"

"Tell me, Director, about life on the Somalian boarder," he began, wanting to start with the recent and work back. He placed his arms on the rests and leaned back in his large captain's chair to listen.

As uncomfortable as I was with opening up, this was different. It felt good to converse with someone who understood what I'd been through, even though the last time this man had seen action was Desert Storm. He was career military, but I could see a passion deep within for expanding one's mind. I guess that's why he worked with the National Guard units in the colleges. We talked for nearly two hours. Shared stories of tours and of places we'd been, of people we'd dealt with, our views on the political climate in certain regions, and what I felt the military should or should not do.

"Do you know Dean Campbell?" I finally asked.

His brow furrowed slightly. "Yes. Works with the University of Wyoming. Why?"

"I met him today. Chance meeting on the street. A friend of a friend."

"Good man" he nodded. "Tries hard to develop courses that would be useful the Guard. He ask to talk to you?" I nodded. "Smart man. Knows a promising prospect when he sees it. I think you have a lot to offer, and you have a way of talking that gets people to listen. Interested in working for us?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Doing?"

"Let's start with the key note speech at the inauguration ceremony at the end of the month. Then, guest lecturing at our outreach units. See how you like it. How we like it. And, we'll go from there. What do you say?"

My smile grew and a warmth of nerves and excitement spread through me. "It sounds very interesting."

I texted Henry on the way out. The commander had offered a driver to drop me off at the hotel. I wouldn't need a lift, but Henry didn't return my text.

Shortly after five, Sugar and I stepped off the elevator on our floor and paused noticing our hotel door partially open. My heart thudded hard, and I carefully eased forward along the wall, Sugar on alert, crouched and creeping on the ground.

Standing to the side of the door, out of sight, I could hear the radio playing a soft country tune. I slowly pushed the door open with my fingertips.

"Henry?" I called cautiously through the partially open doorway. "Henry? Are you alright?"

"Of course," he answered curiously. "Are you going to come in or just stand there?"

I eased around the door frame and was surprise to see the small table by the window set for dinner, a single rose in a water glass, candles lit, Henry standing by the mini fridge pouring sparkling fruit juice into plastic drinking glasses.

He offered me one and raised his glass.

"To open doors and new opportunities," he toasted. "Congratulations."


End file.
